ONE clear, warm evening Hoag rode along the side of the mountain. The sun had been down for an hour, and the valley lay beneath the soft folds of a twilight which, ever creeping from west to east, seemed gradually to thicken under the increasing rays of the constantly appearing stars. He saw the village lights, and from their locations knew where the main buildings stood—the hotel, the post-office, and the wagon-yard, marked by the red glow of the camp-fires. He could see, also, his own home at the end of the road up which he had ascended.

The incline was growing steeper and his horse was stepping cautiously, and shying here and there at real or fancied objects in the underbrush on each side of the densely shaded road. Presently a point was reached where the horse could not well advance further, and the rider dismounted, hitched his rein to a bush, and, on foot, took a narrow path which led down a steep incline into a canon of considerable depth and breadth. Finally gaining a sort of level at the bottom, he trudged on into a labyrinthian maze of brambles, lichen-coated boulders, and thorn-bushes, headed for a specter-like cliff which, now and then, loomed in the starlight.

Presently a firm cry of “Halt there!” greeted him, and a tall, lank form, topped by a mask of white cloth with jagged eye and mouth openings, stood in front of him.

“Halt yoreself, Joe Purvynes!” Hoag answered, facetiously.

“Halt, I say! That won't do,” and the figure raised a long-barreled gun and threateningly presented it. “What's the password?”

“Hold on, hold on!” Hoag laughed uneasily. “It's me, Joe!”

“Me! I don't know no me's in this business. You give me the proper password or I'll plug you full o'—”

“A white man's country,” Hoag hurriedly complied. “Thar, I reckon that will suit you.”

“Good Lord, Cap! I swear I didn't know you,” the sentinel exclaimed apologetically. “By gum, I come 'in an inch o' givin' the signal to the boys up thar to lie low. It ain't for me to dictate to you, but you ought to obey regulations yourself if you expect the rest to keep order. Cap, this ain't no jokin' business; we've got to be careful.”

“I thought you'd know my voice.” Hoag fended the matter of! with an impatient gesture and an audible sniff. “The klan arrived yet?”

“Yes, up thar in the open; some of 'em got here at sundown. Never seed 'em so eager before. They've got some game up their sleeves. I may as well tell you. You are goin' to have trouble with 'em, Cap.”

“Trouble? What do you mean?”

“I don't know as I've got any ground to say it”—the sentinel leaned on his gun and lifted the lower part of his mask, that he might speak more freely—“but it's the young members, Cap. They ain't satisfied with bein' inactive so long. They say us older, men are takin' the dry-rot, an' won't git out at night because we want to lie in bed an' snooze.” Hoag swore under his breath. He reflected a moment in silence; then he asked, “Who's the ringleader?”

“Hard to say, Cap; they are all a-talkin'. Thar's a dozen or more, but Nape Welborne is the worst. I may as well tell you the truth. They are ag'in' you; they are bent on creatin' dissatisfaction—bustin' up the old order an' startin' out ag'in, as they say, with new blood. They've got some fresh devilment to propose to-night, an' if you don't fall in line double-quick they are a-goin' to move to elect a new captain.”

“I see, I see.” Hoag felt his blood rush in an angry torrent to his head. “They are mad because I didn't favor breakin' in the jail last meetin' to take out Mart Dill. He's Nape's uncle, you know. I was plumb right about that, Purvynes. Mart paid his fine an' is free now, anyway.”

“I understand, Cap, but it made a lot of 'em mad. Of course I don't know, but they say you had some grudge ag'in' Mart, an' that's why you refused to act. They've got liquor in 'em to-night up to the neck, an' you'll have to handle 'em easy or we'll bust into flinders.”

“I'll break their necks, damn them!” Hoag turned to go on. “They can't run over me roughshod. I've been at the head o' this band too long for that.”

“Well, I've give you my opinion, Cap,” Purvynes said, more coldly. “I hope you'll try to keep down a split. Some'n seems goin' crooked, anyway. Sid Trawley's talkin' a lot—gone daffy an' turned into a regular preacher. I know a half-dozen old uns he's kept home to-night, an' Nape Welborne is goin' to make trouble. He hates the ground you walk on. Thar's no ifs and ands about that.”

Farther along, at the base of the almost perpendicular cliff, Hoag found fifty or sixty men waiting for him. Some lay smoking on the grass, others hung about in various restless attitudes, and a group of ten or twelve of the younger men sat eating tinned oysters and sardines with crackers, and drinking whisky from huge flasks which stood on the ground in their midst.

A man on the edge of the assembly recognized the leader, and saluting respectfully, called out, “Boys, rise; the Captain is here!”

Thereupon a formality took place which to Hoag had always been a subtle delight. Those standing removed their hats, and all who were seated struggled to their feet and stood silent and uncovered.

“How are you, boys?” That constituted Hoag's usual greeting, and then every one sat down, and for a moment silence ensued. There was a fallen log on the border of the assemblage, and upon this the leader sat as if upon a judicial bench. He put his hat on the grass at his feet and folded his hands between his knees. There was a low tinkle of a knife-blade gouging out potted ham from a jagged tin, and Hoag drew himself erect and frowned.

“Let up on that eatin' thar!” he said, testily. “One thing at a time. I've had a hard ride to git up here, an' I'll be treated with proper respect or—”

“You be damned!” a low voice muttered, and a soft titter of startled approval rose in the group of younger men and slowly died in the consternation which' Hoag's fierce attitude seemed to set afloat upon the air.

“Who said that?” he sharply demanded, and he half rose to his feet and leaned forward in a threatening attitude.

There was no response. Hoag, standing fully erect now, repeated his question, but the surly demand elicited only a repetition of the tittering and a low, defiant groan.

Hoag slowly and reluctantly resumed his seat. “I'm goin' to have order an' obedience,” he growled. “That's what I'm here for, an' anybody that wants trouble can git it. This is me a-talkin'.”

The silence was unbroken now and, somewhat mollified, Hoag proceeded to the business of the night. “Mr. Secretary,” he said, “call the roll, an' make careful note of absentees an' impose fines.”

A man holding a bit of lighted candle and a sheet of paper stood up and went through this formality.

“How many missin'?” Hoag inquired, when the roll-call was over and the candle extinguished.

“Seven, not countin' Sid Trawley,” was the response.

“Cold feet—seven more beyond the age-limit!” a wag in the younger group was heard to say in a maudlin and yet defiant tone.

“Order thar!” Hoag commanded in a stentorian voice.

“Gone to nigger prayer-meetin',” another boldly muttered, and Hoag stamped his foot and called for order again. “What have we got before the body?” he inquired, in agreement with his best idea of parliamentary form. “Do I hear any proposals?”

There was a short pause, then a young man in the noisy group rose. It was Nape Welborne. His mouth was full of the dry crackers he was munching, and little powdery puffs shot from his lips when he began to speak.

“Worshipful Knight, an' gentlemen of the Klan,” he began, with an obvious sneer. “I've been asked to say a few words to-night. Considerable dissatisfaction has got up in our body. Things has been proposed that in common decency ought to have gone through, an' they've been put under the table an' nothin' done. The general opinion is that this has come to be a one-man gang.”

“Everything's been put to a vote,” Hoag retorted, with startled and yet blunt dignity.

Grunts and sniffs of contempt ran through the group of younger men, and when the Captain had secured, order Welborne resumed. It was plain that he was making no effort to disguise his rancor.

“Yes, they was snowed under after our worshipful leader showed that he wasn't in for action, an' the men wouldn't move without an authorized head.”

“That's no way to put it,” Hoag retorted. “As your leader I had to say what I thought was wisest an' best. I always have done it, an' heard nothin' ag'in' it till now.”

“Because you used to have a little more red blood in your veins than you got now, an' that's sayin' powerful little.” The speaker's eyes bore down upon the upturned faces, and was greeted by a loud clapping of hands and boisterous exclamations of agreement.

Hoag was white with helpless fury. “You mean to say—damn you—” he began, only to lapse into cautious silence, for there was something in the staring tenseness of the speaker and his crouching supporters which was ominous of a storm that was ready to break.

“Be careful, Cap!” It was the voice of Purvynes close behind him, and the sentinel leaned downward on his gun to finish: “They are drunk an' have got it in for you. They are bent on devilin' you tonight an' forcin' an issue. Look sharp!”

Welborne had drawn himself up and was silent. Hoag nodded despairingly at the man behind him and said: “Go on with your proposition, Brother Welborne. What is it you want?”

Welborne laughed out impulsively. “I see we are gettin' to be kin folks. Well, to come down to hard-pan an' brass tacks, Worshipful Knight, King o' the Mossbacks, I am empowered to say that—”

“That he's got cold feet!” a merry voice broke in with an irrepressible giggle.

At this Hoag sprang up, but hearing Purvynes' startled warning behind him, and realizing what open resentment on his part would mean, he stood unsteadily for an instant and then sank down.

“Go on!” he said, desperately. “We'll hear you out.”

“I wasn't goin' to use them nasty words myself,” the speaker smiled down into the beardless face from which they had issued, “for it wouldn't be becomin' on an occasion like this. Cold feet don't seem to fill the bill exactly, nohow. A man may have a cold pair when his judgment is ag'in' some move or other. The thing some of us new members find ourselves up against in our leader is rank cowardice, an' plenty of it.”

“Cowardice!” Hoag allowed his rigid lips to echo.

“That's the word,” the speaker stared fixedly, as low murmurs of approval swept through the immediate group around him and permeated the borders of the crowd in general.

“Explain yourself.” Hoag was conscious of fighting for some expedient of rescue under the shadow of toppling defeat.

“Oh, well, our boys have made up their minds that you are plumb without any sort o' real grit,” Welborne said, firmly. “You seem to be one solid bluff from beginnin' to end. We could cite half a dozen cases, not to mention the two times that Jeff Warren made you eat dirt an' lick the soles of his boots.”

“It's a lie!” Hoag floundered, recklessly. “A low, dirty lie!”

Welborne stepped out from the group and advanced half-way to the captain. “That's what I've been hopin' you'd git to,” he said, calmly. “I suppose you mean me. Now, rise from that log, Hoag, an' prove whether you got any backbone or not. You are not only a liar, but a low-lived coward in the bargain!”

Dead silence fell. Hoag was well aware that his power was gone—his throne had crumbled under his feet, for he saw the utter futility of fighting the young giant before him, and he knew that many of his supporters would regard it as inevitable.

“I didn't say you was a liar. I said—”

“But I say you are worse than that,” Welborne snarled, “and you've got to set thar before us all an' chaw my statement an' gulp it down.”

“You fellows have laid a trap for me,” Hoag muttered, desperately. He glanced around at the older men. How strange it was that no word of rebuke came from even the wisest of them! Surely they didn't believe the charge of this wild young drunkard after all those years in which he had led them, and had their homage and respect.

“I see you don't mean to defend yourself,” Welborne went on, glancing around at the gathering, “an' that's proof enough of what I say. You've held your post not because you was a brave man, Jim Hoag, but because you had money that some men are low enough to bow before; but us young men in these mountains will have a leader with sand in his craw, or none at all.” The speaker paused, and his fellows stood up around him. There was a warm shaking of hands, a rising clamor of approval, and this spread even to the older men, who were excitedly talking in low tones.

“Come on, boys, let's go home!” Welborne proposed. “We'll have that meetin' to-morrow night, an' we'll do things. Next time a good man gits in jail no low-lived skunk will keep him thar!”

“Good, good!” several voices exclaimed. The entire assemblage was on its feet. Hoag rose as if to demand order, but the purpose was drowned in the flood of dismay within him. He saw Welborne and his friends moving away. They were followed by others more or less slowly, who threw awkward backward glances at him. Presently only Purvynes and he remained.

The sentinel leaned on the barrel of his gun and chewed his tobacco slowly.

“I seed this thing a-comin' a long time back.” He spat deliberately, aiming at a stone at his feet. “They've talked too much behind your back to be true to your face. I can say it now, I reckon, for I reckon you want to understand the thing. Do you, or do you not?”

“Well, I don't know what to make of it,” Hoag said, with the lips of a corpse, the eyes of a dying man. “I simply don't!”

“Well, it's this a way,” Purvynes explained, with as much tact as he could command. “Welborne didn't tell it all. What really has rankled for a long time was that—they say, you understand—that you just kept this thing a-goin' for a sort o' hobby to ride on when you ain't off in Atlanta havin' a good time. They claim that you just love to set back an' give orders, an' preside like a judge an' be bowed an' scraped to. They say that, here of late, you hain't seemed to be alive to home interests or present issues. They claim the niggers are gittin' unbearable all around, an' that you are afraid they will rise an' burn some o' your property. They say you don't care how much the niggers insult white folks, an' that you'd rather see a decent farmer's wife scared by a black imp than lose one o' your warehouses or mills. They are goin' to reorganize to-morrow night. An' listen to me, Jim—” Hoag heard the man address him for the first time by his Christian name—“they are goin' to raise hell. An' that's whar you an' me come in.”

“Whar we come in? You don't think they would dare to—to—” Hoag began tremulously, and ended in rising dismay.

“Oh, I don't mean they would actually mob you or me or any o' the old klan, but whatever they do will be laid at our door because we've been in the thing so long. The truth is, Jim, you trained them fellers to be what they are; they are jest sparks off of your flint. I reckon if Nape Welborne knowed how I looked at it he'd say I had cold feet, for I've been doin' a sight o' thinkin' lately. I've heard Paul Rundel talk on this line.”

“You say you have! He's a fool.”

“I don't know 'bout that; if he ain't got it down about right, nobody has. I heard him talkin' to a crowd one day at the flour-mill. He ain't afraid o' man nor beast. Everybody knows that. Nape Welborne chipped in once, but Paul settled 'im, an' Nape was ashamed to argue any longer. Paul says we are in an awful fix. He prophesied then that we'd turn ag'in' our own race an' we are a-doin' it. You yourself have made enemies among the very men that used to follow you, an' the Lord only knows whar it will end.”

Hoag stifled a groan and struggled to his feet. His legs felt stiff and heavy from inactivity. He stood staring out into the void above the tree-tops. The rocky fastness immediately around was as still as if the spot were aloof from time and space—so still, indeed, that a pebble of the disintegrating cliff being released by the eternal law of change rattled from summit to base quite audibly. From down the mountain-side came boisterous singing. It was Welborne and his supporters.

“D'you hear that?” Purvynes asked, as, gun under arm, he got ready to walk on with his companion.

“Hear what?” Hoag roused himself as from a confused dream.

“Them young devils!” Purvynes chuckled, as if amused. “They need a good lickin'—them boys do. Can't you hear what they are a-singin'?”

“No, I can't. I wasn't payin' no attention.”

“Why, it's—

“'Jim Hoag's body lies molderin' in the grave.'”

Hoag made no answer. He trudged along the rocky path in advance of the other. He stumped his toes occasionally, and was puffing from the exertion. The perspiration stood in visible drops on his furrowed brow. They had reached Hoag's horse, and he was preparing to mount, when a fusillade of pistol-shots, the clatter of horses' hoofs, and loud yells were heard in the distance.

“What's that?” Hoag paused with his hand in the mane of his mount, his foot in the stirrup.

“Oh, it's just them fellows celebratin' their victory. I'll bet they've already made Nape captain. But you can see how they are a-goin' to run things. We'll see the day, Jim, when us older men will be sorry we didn't let up on this business sooner. You know, I believe the klan would 'a' died out long ago if you hadn't took so much pride in it.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Jim. Over half the members kept in just to curry favor one way or another with you, an' to drink the liquor you furnished on meetin'-nights, an' have som'er's to go.”

“I reckon you are mistaken.”

“No, I ain't. This thing's been your pet, Jim, but you're lost your grip on it—you have sure. An' you oughtn't to be sorry—I swear you oughtn't to be.”

The valley, which he could now see from the back of his horse, was Nature's symbol of infinite peace. From its dark depths rose the dismal hooting of a night-owl, the shrill piping of a tree-frog.